Sea Sick: A Horror Novel Part 1

SEA SICK.

By Iain Rob Wright.

Acknowledgments.

A big thanks to Nicola Rees and her daughter Paige for helping me create the world of Sea Sick. The character, Donovan, is entirely their creation. I also thank an anonymous fan of mine for helping me create other aspects of the book. They know who they are! Big thanks to Stephen Bryant for his excellent cover and to Faith Kauwe for her lending me her superior editing skills.

This book is dedicated to my fans and horror-lovers anywhere. You are the best bosses I have ever had and I love working for you.

Day 1.

The bus came to a screeching stop at the end of the pier, deposited Jack and the other pa.s.sengers, then quickly drove away, spluttering a noxious black exhaust cloud behind it. The driver had seemed in a hurry since the moment he picked everyone up at the airport. The excited group's next destination was just twenty feet away. It filled the horizon proudly like a steel monolith.

The Spirit of Kirkpatrick currently occupied more than nine-hundred feet of Palma's dockland, sitting majestically in the Majorcan waters despite its gargantuan bulk. Its multiple decks seemed to climb endlessly into the sky, while portholes lined its red-painted hull like hundreds of staring eyes. It was Jack's first time on a cruise-liner. He wasn't looking forward to it at all.

Most people would have been excited to spend a week on a four-star pa.s.senger s.h.i.+p, hugging the beautiful coastline of the Mediterranean, taking in the sights, but not Jack. For Jack, relaxation and even the very notion of enjoyment was a function he'd lost the use of long ago. The only reason he was even here at all was because he had to be. The choice had been made for him.

An overly-tanned holiday rep approached the group. Her skin was leathery and loose and she spoke with a Spanish accent. "Good afternoon, everybody! I hope you all are ready for your holiday. Are you very excited?"

The group cheered.

Get on with it, Jack thought to himself, eager to get away from the bustling holiday-makers surrounding him: leaky-nosed children and fondling lovers, all of whom stole quick glances at Jack as they wondered what a middle-aged man was doing there alone. Honestly, Jack wondered the very same thing. Once aboard, his plan would be to find the quietest part of the s.h.i.+p and spend the entire week there, reading novels and drinking whisky. The other thing Jack intended to do was sleep or at least try to. Rest wasn't something that came easily to him.

"If you'd just like to come this way," said the leather-skinned holiday rep as she ushered the group inside a small vestibule on the dock. It contained a flight of narrow steps leading up to an enclosed gangway which ran alongside the s.h.i.+p. When Jack reached the top of the stairs, he saw that at the end of the gangway was a row of tables and more olive-skinned holiday reps sitting behind them. Jack and the other pa.s.sengers were told to form an orderly line while they waited for their next instructions. Everybody complied; bright smiles on their faces, eager to be herded like cattle.

A cheap-suited gentleman came to greet the group. There was a sycophantic smile slapped across his smug, moisturised face. "h.e.l.lo, everybody," he said. "Welcome to the Spirit of Kirkpatrick. My name is James. I'm a member of the customer service team. If you could all get your boarding pa.s.ses ready, please, you will find a pa.s.senger number at the top. Can all pa.s.sengers with a number beginning 02 or 03 follow Karen over to the far desk? Everyone else, please follow me to the near desk."

Jack pulled out his boarding pa.s.s and checked the number: 0206606-B. The pa.s.sengers were splitting into two groups and he joined the one belonging to the woman introduced as Karen. They reformed a loose line and funnelled along the gangway. The desk up ahead was filled with bright blue squares and as Jack got closer he saw that they were credit card-sized pieces of plastic.

"Can I see your boarding pa.s.s, please?" one of the reps asked him. The name badge on the man's sky-blue s.h.i.+rt read: Brad.

Jack handed over his paperwork and waited while it was examined. Eventually the young man smiled, plucked up one of the plastic cards from the table, and offered it to Jack. "Welcome aboard, Mr Wardsley. Someone will take you to your room once you are on board."

"Thank you," said Jack, moving away to re-join the queue. A wide hatch in the s.h.i.+p had been opened up and people were now beginning to move inside one by one. Queuing directly in front of Jack was a group of three young men. They talked loudly and impatiently amongst themselves. They seemed to be quite drunk. One of them, Jack noticed, sported a ridiculous haircut, full of shaven lines and childish squiggles. It made his skull look like a hedge maze. He was the loudest of the three and every other word was laced with profanity. Jack took a deep breath and tried to keep his calm.

I came here to get away from cretins like this.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before the queue started moving again and the three young men disappeared up ahead, barging their way, impolitely, to the front. With a bit of luck, the s.h.i.+p would be big enough that they wouldn't cross paths with Jack again.

They better b.l.o.o.d.y hope so.

Now in front of Jack was a little girl with her parents. The mum and dad were muttering to one another as if engaged in some kind of spat, but their little angel was oblivious to the tension. She was playing with a life-sized baby doll and pretending to feed it with a miniature bottle. With her golden pigtails and rosy-red cheeks she was the picture of innocent and adorable youth.

The queue started moving again. Jack could see through the hatch entrance into the s.h.i.+p's interior. Well-trodden red carpeting led down a narrow corridor before entering into a wide-open area beyond. Midway down that corridor was a Filipino woman, checking people's pa.s.ses as they walked by. Before that, however, standing just outside the hatch, was a scruffy, bearded man with a plastic container. It seemed to be full of rubbing alcohol and the man was squeezing a small amount into every pa.s.senger's hands before they entered the s.h.i.+p. Jack sighed. The paranoia of swine flu, bird-flu, and a whole host of other overblown health scares were obviously not yet forgotten. Jack wondered what good, if any, a tiny dose of alcohol could really do against a super-virus. It seemed like a naive precaution.

Ahead, the little girl's parents took their turns with the alcohol, rubbing their hands thoroughly like a surgeon scrubbing up. Once they were done they ushered their daughter over to take her own turn.

"Can my dolly have some, too?" the little girl asked as she ran over to the man with the dispenser. "I don't want her to get a horrible cold."

The alcohol-man seemed unmoved by the girl's cuteness, but he obliged anyway, spraying an additional blob onto the plastic hands of the toy baby. Jack smiled at the innocence of it all as he pa.s.sed by the family and headed inside the s.h.i.+p. He didn't need any rubbing alcohol. It was a mildly-effective precaution at best, made necessary only because people were, for the most part, unconcerned with personal hygiene and good manners. Disease spread because of lazy, unwashed people, not because of individuals like Jack. He skipped right by the man with the dispenser and showed his pa.s.s to the Filipino woman inside the corridor. Then he headed further inside.

The open area at the end of the corridor housed an extravagant foyer with staircases on Jack's right leading up to an ornate balcony. On his left was a walkthrough jewellery store and gift shop. Straight ahead was a pair of smoked-gla.s.s doors; the words, OCEAN VIEW RESTAURANT, written above it in calligraphic script. A crowd of people pa.s.sengers and crew members alike were already buzzing about the area with excitement and energy. It was likely that Jack's group was the final intake of pa.s.sengers for that day. Everybody else had probably arrived earlier in the morning, or perhaps even the previous day. Suddenly Jack felt like a newcomer to a party that was already well under way.

A party I don't even want to be at.

Several yards ahead, a crew member had noticed Jack standing there aimlessly. The man also Filipino like the woman checking pa.s.ses in the corridor hurried over, smiling warmly as he approached. He even waved a hand in a friendly yet awkward gesture. His gawky appearance and bemused expression made Jack think he was unused to greeting pa.s.sengers.

Perhaps he's new.

Jack didn't give a wave back, choosing to nod instead. The crew member's uniform was a light-blue waist jacket with a white s.h.i.+rt beneath, black bowtie, and trousers. His hair was slicked back and dark, making him look older than the thirty or so years he probably was.

"h.e.l.lo, sir. Let me show you to your room. Do you have your boarding pa.s.s?"

Jack nodded and handed it over.

"Ah, okay. Cabin B-18. Is very nice a double."

Jack took the man's word for it. He hadn't booked the cabin himself and only expected the bare minimum. If his superiors had authorised the extra expense of a bigger room then he was grateful, but they needn't have bothered.

"Right now we are on A Deck. We take the elevators down to B deck. This way, please, sir."

Jack followed after the man, rounding a corner beyond the foyer's furthest staircase and entering into a slim hallway. On the right was a pair of bra.s.s-framed elevators. The crewman prodded a silver b.u.t.ton on the wall between the two sets of doors.

While they were waiting Jack asked what the man's name was.

The man tapped a badge on his chest that Jack had missed up until now.

"Joma. My full name is Jose Mariano Pa.n.a.lan, but you can call me Joma for short."

Jack nodded, but found himself without a follow-up question. An awkward silence began to crystallise, but Joma managed to stop to it from manifesting fully.

"Can I ask what your name is, sir?"

"Of course. It's Jack."

The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Joma took Jack gently by the arm and ushered him inside, stepping in after him. "Is your first time on cruise, yes?"

Jack nodded. "It's my first holiday in...ten years, maybe."

Joma whistled in awe. "You must be excited then, no?"

Jack was about to answer that no, he was not excited, but reminded himself that the man was just making small talk and not offering therapy. "Yeah," he decided to lie. "Very excited."

Joma stared at Jack then, drilling into him as if he had a secret tattooed on his skin. "You not bring your wife?"

"I'm not married. Never have been."

Joma didn't probe Jack about it, which was good, as sharing wasn't one of his strong suits. They both chose to remain in silence as the elevator descended to B deck. It was a relief when the doors finally opened again.

"This way," said Joma, heading out into a warmly-lit corridor. Sconces lined both walls and seemed to bathe the ceiling more than they did the deep red carpet. It created a strange, yet calming, atmosphere. Joma padded along between the various cabins, left and right, until he came to one and stopped. "18-B. This is your room, sir."

"Thank you," said Jack, reaching into his pocket to find his wallet.

Joma waved his hand. "You don't need to, sir. All gratuities are included in your fare."

Jack liked the sound of not having to tip. He'd been unsure about the required etiquette aboard a cruise liner and it was a relief that Joma had just informed him what was expected. He decided to give the man a tip anyway. He'd been preparing to do so throughout the entire week, so if this was going to be the only time he was obliged to hand over money, he'd still be way ahead of budget. Jack gave Joma a twenty-euro note.

"This is very kind of you, sir. You need anything at all, you come see me. I work the bar in the Voyager's Lounge. It's very nice, quiet. You have a headache, you come to Voyager's Lounge and it go away."

It sounded nice. Jack thought there was a reasonable chance he could actually end up there most evenings, which made it all the better that he'd gotten off to an amicable start with the bartender.

"Thank you, Joma," he said. "I'm sure I'll see you there."

The man nodded and smiled. "You settle in good. Have lovely week, okay?"

"I will." Jack turned away and inserted the plastic card he'd been given into a slit in the door handle. He was pleased when it disengaged the lock on the first try.

I always thought these things were supposed to be a pain in the a.r.s.e.

Inside, the room was s.p.a.cious, with a private bathroom and a living room separated from the bedroom by a pull-across curtain. Jack had seen smaller bedsits in his time and he was pleasantly surprised by the luxury afforded to him. He was also impressed by the fact his luggage had been delivered ahead of him. It sat on the floor in front of the room's built in wardrobes. Jack had to admit the cabin was nice. There was even a respectably large LCD television, already switched on and displaying information about the s.h.i.+p. According to the text on screen, the Spirit of Kirkpatrick weighed 40 Tonnes and was powered by two Sulzer LB66 diesel engines. Its top speed was 22mph. Many more facts and figures also popped up on screen, but they weren't interesting enough to prevent Jack from turning off the set with the small black remote he found on a table beside the snuggly-made bed.

The bed itself was what truly interested Jack. It was a double, seemed indulgently comfortable, and he intended to spend the next twelve hours there. Even before Jack had boarded a plane at 8AM, flown for two and a half hours from Birmingham Airport, and then taken a forty-minute coach ride from Palma airport to the dock, he still would have been weary. It had been two years since he'd last slept through the night. He was hoping with every sc.r.a.p of his soul that if he could get anything out of his enforced holiday, it would be a decent amount of sleep. It felt like if he did sleep now he might never wake up again, as tired as he was. But that was what he'd been sent here for to rest and relax so he at least intended to try. Jack didn't hold up much hope, though. All he wanted to do was get through this week as easily as possible. No thrills, no excitement, no nothing. Then perhaps he could get back to the miserable life he was used to.

The life I'm already missing.

Jack was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Day 2.

Jack awoke with a start. The fuzziness that filled his head and covered the back of his eyelids was a feeling he had not experienced for some time. It was the feeling of deep sleep. I must finally have slept. Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned. It must have been a very deep and embracing slumber because it had somehow left him feeling more exhausted than rested. His throat was dry and sore.

Jack sat up in bed, blinked his eyes. The room was dark. The light from the cabin's window was blocked by the dividing room curtain. An alarm clock on the bedside table, shaped like a cube, displayed the time in glowing red numerals. It read: 1400.

Christ! I slept through for twenty-four hours. That's insane. Maybe I would have slept even longer if something hadn't b.l.o.o.d.y-well woken me up.

Jack pulled back the duvet and dumped his sweating feet onto the floor. He stood up, then s.h.i.+mmied around the edge of the bed carefully, mindful of the darkness of an unfamiliar room. The main light switch would most likely be near the cabin's door, so he headed over, fumbling through the shadows. Sure enough, his probing fingers eventually found a set of k.n.o.bs and switches set into the wall the controls for both lighting and air conditioning no doubt. He fiddled about for a few moments and eventually hit upon the right switch.

The room lit up in a blink and everything came into colour. Jack's eyes were still fuzzy and the sudden onslaught of light made them ache as well. Squinting through the pain and trying hard to focus, it became a little clearer what had woken him.

Jack's luggage lay sprawled against the wardrobe door. It must have tipped over as the s.h.i.+p crested a particularly rough wave. As if to confirm his suspicions the s.h.i.+p listed again and the luggage b.u.mped against the wardrobe doors once more. With the mystery solved, Jack stretched out his arms above his head and let out a long, overdue yawn. He had to admit that he felt better after such a long sleep, almost as though a cloud had lifted from his mind, allowing him to see things more clearly. The colours and smells had finally returned to his world. If not anything else, then at least the cruise had given Jack a brief respite from his insomnia. Maybe his bosses at the police force had been right about him needing a change of scenery in order to relax.

Who'd have thought it?

Jack pulled aside the curtain separating the middle of the room and padded over to the porthole window. A lifeboat partially obscured his view to the left, but he could see the wooden Promenade Deck outside and the blue-green sea beyond its railings. The Mediterranean was vast and soulful, every inch of it s.h.i.+fting and rolling beneath invisible forces. Jack knew little of the s.h.i.+p's itinerary, but he supposed that today would be a day at sea. Which meant all the pa.s.sengers would be onboard, reducing the amount of areas for quiet and privacy.

So much for getting some alone time. Hopefully tomorrow everyone will b.u.g.g.e.r off once we hit the coast of France or wherever it is we're going.

Something struck the gla.s.s.

Jack leapt back from the window, his breath catching in his throat. He ended up laughing to himself when he realised it was just a seagull come to perch on the ledge of his porthole. The mottled bird stared in at him with beady black eyes, then flew away to pursue adventures elsewhere.

Maybe he was just trying to tell me that waking up at 2PM is unacceptable for a grown man, even on vacation.

Jack let out one final yawn and then decided he would indulge his sleepiness no more. A shower was the next order of business and something that could finally rid his eyes of their fuzziness. The small bathroom was cooler than the rest of the cabin and a breeze seemed to enter from somewhere and skim across the tiles. Jack hadn't unpacked his things yet so he was pleased to see that, with the exception of a toothbrush, everything he needed was supplied. There was soap and shampoo in the shower cubicle and a roll of non-branded toothpaste sitting in a gla.s.s jar at the rear of the sink. Jack reached over into the shower and twisted the k.n.o.b jutting out from the wall. The shower head hissed and let out a freezing cold jet of water. Jack yanked his arm back and tried to keep from swearing in surprise. His temper was part of the reason he'd been sent on the cruise in the first place, so he intended to try and gain some control over it if he could.

After a few minutes had gone by, during which the use of the toilet had become necessary, Jack reached back into the shower to test the water. It was warmer now so he stripped off his clothes and stepped inside. The soothing heat immediately caressed his body and made him shudder. It almost lulled him back into a sleepy daze, so he turned the temperature down and made the water lukewarm. It was cold enough to bring back his focus.

Just try and make the best of this, Jack. There's nothing wrong with taking a little time off. The world doesn't need you as much as you think it does.

Jack took a few minutes to wash his aging body, getting soap into places he forgot he had. Then, once clean and sufficiently refreshed, he turned the shower off. He stepped out cautiously, not wanting to slip on the wet tiles, and dried himself with one of the provided plump towels. Then he crept, naked, back into the bedroom.

His clean clothes were still in his luggage, which he hoisted up onto the bed. From inside, he dragged out a pair of long khaki shorts and a nondescript red t-s.h.i.+rt. For footwear he chose a pair of white tennis pumps.

Once Jack was dressed and ready, he suddenly found himself reluctant to leave the room. Rather than exploring the s.h.i.+p, he could just as easily spend the day reading in bed and swigging from the unopened bottle of Glen Grant he had in his luggage would prefer it in fact but it would be ungrateful seeing as he wasn't the one paying for the holiday. Like it or not, Jack needed to make the best of things.

He grabbed one of the books out of his luggage (an Andy McNab Thriller) and prepared to leave. But, as he reached the door, Jack noticed a piece of paper had been slipped underneath it. He bent down to pick it up and saw that it was the s.h.i.+p's newsletter. Printed in cheap black ink, as though from a photocopier, it was headed by the day's date 14.10.2012 and the name of the s.h.i.+p in bold, SPIRIT OF KIRKPATRICK. Jack scanned the page and saw that it was indeed a day at sea as he'd earlier surmised. The afternoon activities included: afternoon bingo, a five-a-side football tournament, an ice sculpting display, and an audience with some magician he'd never heard of. The evening was scheduled with a production of Half a Sixpence followed by an obscure comedian. Jack didn't fancy any of it, but when he looked at the lunch options he was pleased to see that there would be hotdogs served on the Lido deck at 3PM. His stomach mumbled at the thought of food, and rightly so. It had been over twenty-four hours since he'd last eaten.

Jack folded the newsletter into a square and placed it in the pocket of his shorts. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. There was a set of elevators a dozen yards down and he decided to choose a deck at random by pressing b.u.t.tons without looking.

It turned out to be the Broadway Deck, and when the doors opened it was much brighter than B Deck. Natural light flooded in from an exit at one end of the corridor. Jack's view of the other end of the corridor was obstructed by a large room-service cart crammed full of stripped bedsheets and pillowcases.

He decided to head for the exit door, the glow of sunlight beckoning him. Just before he got there, though, the floor rolled beneath his feet and sent him cras.h.i.+ng against the wall.

The rocking lasted another ten seconds or so, making his empty stomach churn irritably. When he was sure the unsteadiness was over, Jack peeled himself away from the wall and carried on down the corridor. October was obviously a bad time to be on the seas and he could see himself getting sick if the s.h.i.+p's rocking was a regular occurrence.

Let's hope Poseidon is in a good mood.

Jack pushed open the heavy, gla.s.s doors at the end of the corridor and stepped out onto the Promenade Deck. As soon as he did, he was forced to leap back into the still open doorway as a pair of giggling boys hurtled past without any regard for people in their way. Jack watched them race off recklessly down the side of the s.h.i.+p. He was about to shout after them but stopped himself.

Keep calm. Not worth it.

The boys turned a corner up ahead and disappeared from sight. Jack took in a lungful of sea air and instantly forgot about them. The fresh, unpolluted oxygen soothed his nerves and the feeling of salt.w.a.ter on his face was invigorating. He strolled over to the railings and leaned forward, taking another, even deeper, breath. His experiences of being aboard a boat were few, but Jack was surprised to find that the rhythmic swaying of the vast sea had a placating effect on him. Looking out across the water, Jack felt completely alone. It was if society, and all its wretched ills, was far, far away. Suddenly the urge to vault the barrier took over Jack and he imagined what it would feel like to plunge into the salty depths of the sea, to disappear beneath its waves.